The chicken incident.

I believe this incident happened sometime last summer. It all started with four consecutive shots on whiskey back-to-back and a trip to Get Right. Well, sometime in between the hours of 12 am and 2 am I somehow managed to sneak back home (which I don't remember), drive my car, talk to my roommate about how hungry I was (was I really that hungry? I'll never know), somehow managed to work the oven and place one single chicken breast inside, cook it for the right amount of time, retrieve it from the oven, place it (along with single slice of american cheese) on a plate and take it up to my room. I awake the next morning to find everything still there laying right next to me with a bite or two that may or may not have been taken out of the chicken. How convenient. 

This incident could probably be correlated to the time I woke up with ketchup on my hand and spent a lot of time wondering if it was dried blood or not.